Home Sweet Homicide
by MizScarlet
Summary: Just what kind of horror does it take to create a man like John Hart? Chapter 3 & 4 are the new chapters. Title from song by Electric Angels.
1. The Beginning

**Warning: Unlike my first story this one is dark, nasty, and hopefully disturbing. Read at your own risk.**

**Home Sweet Home**

Dr. Penelope Ranes stood outside the house waiting for the lead detective to come and take her inside. The house could more accurately be described as a mansion, though it was one of the smaller holdings of an old and very powerful family. She imagined many a lavish party had been thrown here, though it was to imagine it now with all the flashing lights and police vehicles around. Finally, the detective who called her made his way over to her.

"I'm sorry to have called you out in the middle of the night, but we didn't know what else to do. I suppose we could have tranqed him, but then it would be hours before we could a statement out of him."

"I just hope I'm able to help. This is such a tragedy," she responded as they made their way inside the house. She had been warned what to expect over the phone, but nothing prepared her for what she saw. The scene she was brought to was in a living room that had once been pristine and perfect. The kind of room no one ever actually sat in. Now, it was in disarray and splattered with blood. The bodies of the couple who owned the house had been stabbed so many times they were in pieces all over the floor.

Standing in the center of all this horror was a boy of about 12. He was naked except for the large amounts of blood covering his body. His face was pale and expressionless, but his eyes darted around the room keeping track of all the guns trained on him. He was breathing heavily, but not moving. In his hands were two large and very sharp knives.

Penelope made her way slowly and carefully towards the boy, stopping just out of his reach. She tried to look him in the eye as she introduced herself. "I'm Dr. Penny, I'm here to help you."

His voice was flat as he replied, "No, you're not. Nobody is." He never even looked at her.

"But I am," she said gently, trying to build a rapport. "Can you tell me your name?"

"I don't have one," he said, turning his head slowly to look at her, but still watching the armed officers carefully.

"Everyone has a name."

"I don't. THEY never gave me one."

A heavy knot started to grow in Penelope's stomach. She was getting a bad feeling about what had really happened here. "Where are you from, then?"

"Where am I from?" He didn't seem to understand the question.

"Where do you live?" She tried again.

"In the basement." The knot in here stomach started to grow bigger.

"What about before you were in the basement? Do you remember living somewhere else?"

He seemed to think about it for a bit before answering. "No, just the basement." Then he smiled a humorless smile. "They thought I would never be able to get out, but I did." He went back to staring out into the room.

"I need to talk to the detective for a minute. I'll be back. Just stay still. Okay?" There was no response. She made her way back to the detective and asked him "Has anyone searched the basement?"

"Yeah. They found a hidden room. We're pretty sure that's where he was kept."

"I need to see it, now."

"You really don't want to do that."

Penelope was adamant, so the detective took her down to the basement room where the lab techs were already at work collecting evidence. She was shocked at what she saw. She'd seen pictures of dungeons and torture chambers that looked friendlier. The room was tiny, and the only entrance was concealed in the wall when closed. There was no natural light, and very little light of any kind. The place was filthy, and the smell made her want to vomit. There was no furniture, just some torn and dirty blankets in a pile on the floor. There were no clothes or other personal items, either. The room wasn't empty, however. Penelope didn't want to contemplate what the assorted items and instruments had been used for.

One of the lab techs came over to brief the detective. "We found blood on the instruments and the blankets, all his. We also found other body fluids on the blankets, both male and female, none of it his." Penelope thought she was going to be sick. The detective had to lead her out and back upstairs.

"Who is he?" she asked the detective.

"We don't know. Missing Persons came up with nothing. Whoever's missing him, they're not looking for him, not here anyway."

Penelope pulled herself together and went back to talk to the boy. "I saw the basement. I know what they did to you. It's over now. These officers don't want to shoot you, but you need to put the knives down or give them to me."

"Nobody cares," he said matter-of-factly.

"I do, now please, give me the knives. Let this be over, and I can take you away from here." He looked at her for a moment, then slowly handed her the knives. In an instant several officers tackled him, bringing him to his knees and cuffing his hands behind his back. One officer kept his gun trained on the back of the boy's head as they made to move him out of the house.

"Stop it!" Penelope shouted. They ignored her. "At least cover him up," she said as she grabbed a throw from what was left of the couch and wrapped it around him. Outside, she confronted the detective. "They're treating him like a criminal when he's the victim," she said angrily.

"No one's ever going to know that," he said.

Penelope couldn't hide her shock. "What about all the evidence?"

"You know who these people are, the kind of reach this family has. That evidence will never see the light of day."

"Then what will happen to him?"

"He'll be taken to Milledgeville for rehabilitation."

Penelope couldn't take it. "But that institution is a nightmare. They don't rehabilitate anyone there. They just teach them to be better killers."

"At least he'll be a killer for the state instead of a loose cannon."

"But he's just a child!"

"That's why he's not dead. Do you honestly believe he can be helped, Doc? Look at him. It's too late for him. He's like a wild animal that can't be released. All we can do is put a leash on him and hope for the best. Go home, Doc. Just go home and forget all about this. You can't help him."

The detective walked away as Penelope watched two officers put the boy in the back of a police vehicle. His eyes never left hers. Once again, he had shut down. The only expression was in his eyes. She saw hatred, anger, and defiance there, but no fear. He had nothing left to lose and couldn't even imagine a time when he had.

No, she couldn't help him, and he never expected her to. But that did nothing to ease her profound sense of failure. The only thing he had wanted was for someone to know the truth about what happened to him even if no one else knew or cared. She could give him that at least, even if that truth haunted her for the rest of her life.


	2. Milledgeville

**Milledgeville**

For some reason, new inmates always seemed to arrive in the middle of the night. It was the nature of the beast, and that is just what these kids were. The head of Milledgeville Institute, Mark Richards, had just supervised the processing of a new arrival. He was all of twelve years old and wearing only a blanket and copious amounts of blood. None of it had been his, of course. The kids sent here were the perpetrators, not the victims. Victims didn't last long in Milledgeville.

Whoever he had killed had probably deserved it, but the boy was too damaged and too dangerous to be allowed out in society. At least, that was the official reason for his incarceration at the Institute. The fact that his victims were wealthy and well-connected people probably had a lot more to do with it. Even dead, their reputations were more important than the life of one little boy.

Now clean and clothed, the boy in question stood in front of him waiting for the final stage of processing to be complete. Mark sighed, another nameless one. It's a good thing it was impossible to run out of numbers. Too many of these kids either didn't know or refused to tell anyone their names. Some had their identities intentionally erased by authorities to prevent any embarrassment of those who could be connected to them. Nothing about these kids belonged to them anymore, if it ever had to begin with.

Mark addressed the young man in front of him. "Since you have failed to provide us with a name or proof of identity, you will now be known as John Doe 356. Is that going to be a problem?" The boy stared at him with a blank gaze before responding. "Why should I care?" "So be it," said Mark as he finished the appropriate paperwork. "You will now answer to John Doe 356 or just 356."

The boy seemed emotionless, but not in shock like some new arrivals are. That was good; the ones in shock didn't last long. The boy had already been briefed on his status, what type of place Milledgeville was, and the rules he needed to follow. All that was left was to see if he truly understood his position here.

"If you want to succeed here, 356, you'll need to work hard. Illiterates and imbeciles are of no use to us, and you have a lot of catching up to do. The agencies we work with expect the best, and that's what we deliver. We know what you're capable of, but you need to prove you have the brains and control to be of use to these people. There are only two ways out of Milledgeville, 356, in a uniform or in a body bag. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal." The boy, John Doe 356, stared at Mark Richards with a hardened gaze. He was young and life hadn't been kind to him, but he was a survivor. His education was severely lacking, but he was incredibly intelligent. He would still be just a prisoner locked in a basement room if he wasn't. He knew he could give them what they wanted, and he was determined that no one would stand in his way. He had a purpose now, and he hadn't made it this far just to give up and die. When he was finished, he would be someone, and no one was going to take that away from him.

During his years in charge of Milledgeville Institute, Mark Richards had overseen the intake of many child inmates. They were all murderers, and some had even reveled in torture. Their first victims were generally the ones who made them what they were, but it was always clear that they wouldn't be the last. These children were hardened to the darker side of the world they lived in. They trusted no one.

Here, at the Institute, they would learn strategy, cunning, the value of information, and the art of war. Their education would go as far as they were willing to take it. Their abilities would be honed until they were ready to join one of the several agencies that recruited their spies, assassins, and other agents at Milledgeville. But it was their fellow inmates that would teach the most valuable lessons. The strong destroyed the weak; the clever ran circles around the simpletons. As a group and as individuals, they weeded out the unacceptable. No adult would intervene on anyone's behalf.

Those who didn't make it were buried in nameless graves outside. No one mourned their passing or even remembered them. They were deemed useless and disposed of accordingly. The survivors were frightening individuals who were capable of anything and had the self-control to accomplish it. Mark Richards could tell that John Doe 356 would be one of those survivors. Age and size didn't factor into it. It was an inner strength and determination that made the difference.

Over the years, Mark had become quite good at predicting what a new inmate would become, and John Doe 356 frightened him in a way no other inmate ever had. Whatever agency took him on had better watch their backs. He had no doubt that 356 would be a star pupil and a perfect agent, until the day he decided not to be. If they ever crossed him, and one day they would, they would find out just how dangerous he truly was.

Mark shuddered at the thought of the monster he was about to create. But that wasn't his problem. His job was to create them. How to keep them under control was the responsibility of whatever agency took them on. So far none of his murderous prodigies had ever come back looking for him. He just hoped this one wouldn't be the first.


	3. Survival of the Fittest

Survival of the Fittest

John 356 learned fairly quickly that while actions against his fellow "students" (Inmates? Patients?) would be ignored, actions against the staff incurred swift and brutal punishment. He only had to experience solitary confinement a couple of times before he learned to avoid it at all costs. Solitary confinement involved being strapped to a gurney in a very small windowless room and left there for hours on end with no food, water, or any way to relieve yourself. By the time you were let out, you were starving, dehydrated, and covered in your own urine and feces.

That was actually the best case scenario. There were plenty of people on staff with very creative cruel streaks. A helpless victim was too good for them to resist. They had plenty of time to cause unimaginable pain and leave horrendous scars, both physical and emotional. There was no way to protect yourself, and no one would help you even if you weren't gagged and were able to scream.

But John was a survivor. He hadn't made it through the house of horrors to die here. Rape, torture, anything they could dish out he could learn to take. He also learned how to avoid it as much as possible. It wasn't a matter of never going after a staff member, it was a matter of not getting caught. John was very good at not getting caught.

However, there was always someone trying to get him in trouble. John had made a lot of enemies in a very short time. Those who couldn't get at him directly found ways to frame him for acts he didn't commit, or at least bribe a staff member into accusing him of something. It wasn't always possible to avoid punishment when this happened, so he learned to endure and get his revenge later. Delaying revenge just made him get crueler and more creative. It was also a lot more fun.

John wasn't a particularly large or muscular boy, but size and strength weren't everything. Being cunning and devious went a long way to evening things out. Creative weapon-making also helped. Being brutal and vicious was the order of the day, and John could dish it out with the best of them. Most of the other kids quickly learned not to confront him directly. Those who didn't tended to end up in the infirmary, if they lived that long.

One of the other lessons John learned was that you didn't have friends at Milledgeville. There were the people in charge, who had to be obeyed, then there was everyone else. Of the rest, people were either your allies or your enemies. Trying to remain neutral would get you killed by both sides. No one wanted someone weaker than them as an ally. Those kids were no use to anyone. They were destined to have very short, miserable lives and brutal deaths.

John would never admit it, but he was actually bothered by the senseless cruelty against those too young or weak to defend themselves. Isn't that how most of them ended up here? There was nothing he could do to protect them, however. Standing up for them would only make John a target and gain him nothing. So, John did the only thing he could think of that would be merciful, he became Milledgeville's very own Angel of Death.

It was actually another boy who showed John how mixing certain chemicals together would create a very potent, fast-acting, relatively painless poison. Just the tiniest scratch with a poison dipped object, or a mere drop of it in someone's food or drink was all that was needed. The boy who taught John all this was his first victim. No one suspected him at all.

Some people thought poison was a weapon of the weak. John thought that was very narrow-minded. Why limit yourself to one type of weapon? As long as it worked who cared what it was? The more weapons in your arsenal, the better prepared you were for any situation. John liked being prepared.

John learned as much as he could from anyone who would teach him, even if they didn't know that's what they were doing. Knowledge was also a weapon. He kept his skills sharp and his position in the pecking order at Milledgeville secure by practicing what he knew on the others. He kept careful note on the abilities and weaknesses of others, but he never interfered anyone's behalf unless there was something in it for him.

There was only one thing he could do for those who couldn't find their place at Milledgeville. He kept small stashes of his special poison in hiding places around the institute. He never knew when he would need it or an opportunity would present itself to end someone else's suffering undetected. The weaklings he killed weren't mourned by anyone. Their fate would have been much harsher if he hadn't intervened, and they still would have ended up in unmarked graves on the institute's grounds.

The only reason anyone cared about the deaths was because no one knew who was doing it and how. Strangely enough, it was actually a first for Milledgeville. No one had ever cared enough before to actually become a mercy killer. They never did figure out it was John. No one suspected that he was even able to care about someone other than himself.

No one would ever dream of uttering the words "mercy" and "John" in the same sentence unless they were talking about someone begging for it. As far as most people were concerned, John had no conscience, no soul. To those who could fight back, John was a skilled and dangerous opponent. As he grew and absorbed all the lessons he was given (both official and not) he only became more so. He had a hair-trigger temper that few could keep under control, but he was brilliant and creative and would stop at nothing to achieve his goals. He was going to make the perfect Time Agent.


	4. A New Partner

**A New Partner**

The freshly minted Time Agent paced nervously. He was about to meet his partner for the first time, a graduate from Milledgeville. A cold-blooded killer since childhood, the man he was waiting for had been trained as a spy and an assassin. He was a weapon in human form with a mind of his own. Just how was he supposed to relate to this man? How was he supposed to work with him and keep him in line? How do you form a close working relationship with a sociopath?

The anxious man froze as the object of his concern entered the room. On the surface, nothing about him appeared out of the ordinary. But there was something about him that promised violence backed by intelligence. He pasted a grin on his face, a mask that had served him well all of his adult life. "So you must be my new partner. I'm Franklin."

"Franklin? You've got to be kidding me!"

"What's wrong with my name? It was my father's name."

"It doesn't suit you. We'll have to come up with a better one. Let's see, how about Poster Boy?"

"I hate it."

"Poster Boy it is then!"

"And just what am I supposed to call you?"

"Call me John. Don't try to call me by my number. I don't like it, and I get cranky when I don't like something. You don't want to see me when I'm cranky. So, if you read the briefing, you already know my story . What's yours? What made you join up?"

"I grew up in the ass end of nowhere. I wanted out."

"Really? So that's where the Boeshane Peninsula is. Good to know. You would have been what, 13 or 14 when the invasion happened? Who'd you lose?" At his partner's shocked look John added "I do my research. Don't underestimate me. If I were stupid, I'd be dead by now. Now, who did you lose that made you become a Time Agent?"

Franklin was furious, but he was going to have to work with this man and trust him with his life. He might as well tell the man what he wanted to know. After all, he was an expert on childhood trauma. "My father died. My younger brother was taken. His name was Gray. He was just a child. I want to know what happened to him."

"They won't let you change it. You know that, don't you?"

"Yeah, I know. But I have to know what happened to him. It was my fault he got taken. I was supposed to protect him, but I lost him. I let go of his hand while we were running for safety, and when I turned around he was gone. I have to find him, or at least find out what happened to him. I owe him at least that much. Satisfied?" His growing anger was obvious, but John's reaction wasn't what he expected.

John suddenly got very serious, still, and dangerous. "I'll make you a deal. You help me find out how I ended up where I did and who was responsible, and I'll help you find out what happened to your brother and make the people who took him pay. What do you say?"

Franklin was astonished. No one had ever offered him that way before. He held out his hand to John. "I say welcome to the team, partner. Let's make them all pay."

John smiled. "I have a really good feeling about you. We're going to be great together. Watch out Universe, here we come!"

Maybe this partnership wouldn't be all bad. He wouldn't have to hide his darker side from John like he did all the others. He was also beginning to understand what made John the way he was and to appreciate how far he had come. He was starting to really feel for this man. After all, if Gray had managed to survive, what would his experiences have done to him? He had read John's file. It was horrific, and Gray would likely have had to endure even worse.

Gray was so young when he was taken. Did he have the strength to survive what those creatures could put him through? If he did, what kind of man would he become? Would he be some sort of psychotic or sociopath like John and the others from Milledgeville? If Gray survived, could he be saved? John, strangely enough, would be a good judge of that. He was going to be an important ally to have in the years to come. Maybe this would work out after all.


	5. Time Agent

**Time Agent**

Penelope was in a busy city center when she had the strange feeling she was being watched. She looked around carefully to see who it could be and noticed a young man boldly staring at her. He seemed deep in thought, as if he were trying to remember something. All of a sudden, he smiled. "Doc Penny?" he asked as he came closer.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" she replied.

"A long time ago," he said. "I've grown up since then. I'm not surprised you don't recognize me."

"Were you a patient of mine?" She often ran into old patients. Sometimes, if she had known them only as young children, it would be hard for her to place the face.

"Not exactly," the young man replied. "It was more of a police intervention. I'd tell you my name, but I change it so often it wouldn't mean anything to you. Besides, I didn't actually have one when we met." I look of dawning realization was crossing her face, so he continued "Just picture me wearing less clothes and more blood, or just less clothes if you prefer," he said with a smirk.

Penelope gasped as she realized who the young man was. Her mind took her back to the night she walked into a house of horrors and saw a young boy's hope of recovery sacrificed to power and politics. She was quite frankly surprised he was still alive let alone out on the street. She was sure he would have ended up either a suicide or permanently institutionalized as a danger to others. She felt a shiver run down her spine at the calculating look on his face. "So did you ever remember your name or find out where you were from?"

"I never remembered, and no one was interested in trying to find out. Did you really think they would be? Please, I had just committed my first double homicide and it was a blood bath. I'm surprised I made it out of there without a bullet to the head."

_His first double homicide?_ Penelope was also surprised by his calm attitude about his possible death at the hands of the police. Just what had happened to him since that night? "They said they were taking you someplace for rehabilitation."

"And you believed them? I consider it more of a training opportunity." He gave her an evil grin. "Those of us who survived got really good at what we do. Of course, I'm really good at everything I do." He gave her a lascivious smile that both thrilled and terrified her.

It was impossible to misunderstand the meaning of his last statement. Penelope had a bad feeling that too many people had already made the mistake of falling for his flirtatiousness and charm without seeing what was hiding underneath. She already knew what he was capable of, and she had a hard time keeping it foremost in her thoughts with him looking at her that way.

Fortunately, she was saved by the arrival of another young man. He was tall, handsome, and had a smile that could charm the pants off of anyone and probably had. He put his arm around the other man and gave a knowing grin. "Am I interrupting something?"

"No, just talking to an old friend. We were catching up on old times. Did you want something, or are you just bored?"

"I hate to be a spoilsport," the tall stranger replied, "but we have a job to do." He was pointing at a strap on his wrist. "It's time to get moving." All of a sudden he was all business.

"Ah, right. Duty calls. It was nice seeing you again, Doc. Maybe we'll run into each other again some time." It almost seemed more like a threat than a pleasantry. The two walked off together arm in arm, as Penelope tried to get her thoughts together.

One part of her was glad that the defeated boy she remembered had been given a chance to grow up and be a part of society. He seemed to have found some happiness, a job, and even a friend. It was more than she could have hoped for him when he was taken away that fateful night.

The other part of her was terrified. She recognized the wrist strap. Only Time Agents had those. What possessed someone to give the keys to space and time to a psychotic killer? She had a bad feeling she knew the answer to that. She was quite sure they had trained and armed him, as well. She hoped that partner of his was an effective "leash". She didn't want to think about what could happen if he wasn't.

**A/N: I hope you recognized Jack (or whatever name he was going by at the time) in this piece. He did say he was partnered with John because he was the only one who could control him.**


	6. I Remember

**A/N: I realize that both Jack and John would have gone by different names at this point, but it seemed too confusing to give them new ones. They just may have used those first names before, anyway.**

**I Remember**

It was a beautiful day, and the two time agents were relaxing and having a pleasant meal together not far from Agency headquarters. All of a sudden, John became very serious and still. He was staring at a man at another table. "I know him," he said in a low growling voice. "I remember him. He's the one who brought me to THEM."

Jack reached out to grab John's arm and restrain him just as John started to get up and reach for one of his weapons. "Not here. We can get away with a lot, but not if we're obvious and reckless. Are you sure it's him?"

"Yes," John hissed. "He's the one, and he's going to pay."

It was clear the John was teetering on the edge now. He often made light of his past, but Jack knew just how much it had affected him. What he could remember of his early years of life had been a living hell, and the damage couldn't be undone. Knowing that nothing could distract John from his objective, Jack started thinking about damage control. "We'll wait by the alley. We'll catch up with him there when he leaves." Jack paid their bill and practically dragged John out of the restaurant.

John waited impatiently while Jack set up a sound dampener at the front of the alley. Jack knew what was going to happen, and he knew he couldn't stop it. He might as well make sure no one else got involved. It wasn't long before the man they were waiting for walked by. John grabbed him and had him in the back of the alley with a gun pointed at him before he even realized what was happening. Jack stood watch at the front of the alley to make sure no one interfered.

"Take what you want. Just let me go," the frightened man begged.

"Oh, I'll take what I want," John growled. "The only question is how long I will make you suffer before I finally kill you."

"Who are you? What do you want from me?"

"Someone you sold to some very bad people, and I want you to suffer and die." For someone who claimed not to care about his past, John had spent a lot of time researching how he came to be in the house of horrors he grew up in. He wasn't this man's only victim. He pushed a tattered photo in the man's face, the only one he had of himself as a young child. "Who was I?" he screamed.

The man seemed to gain some confidence. "No one," he answered, "just some brat who would have died alone on the street if it weren't for me. You were nothing. No one wanted you."

"That's brilliant," Jack commented. "Go ahead. Taunt the heavily armed psychopath. It's your funeral."

John had put away his gun and pulled out some knives. He smiled a cold and cruel smile. "Slow and painful it is."

"Aren't you going to do something?" the man shouted to Jack.

"I am. I'm making sure he stops with just you." Jack turned away as John started in on the helpless man. He was within the sound dampening field, so he could hear the screams and begging. He knew what John was doing; he didn't have to see it. He just needed to make sure no one else got in the way and got hurt.

When John was finished, there wasn't much left of the man. Jack sighed and made a call to the cleanup team. At least dealing with the remains wasn't his responsibility. All in all, it wasn't too bad of an outcome. Only one man dead and he deserved it. John had been close to cracking, and Jack, who feared very little in life, was terrified of that happening. If it ever did, the city would burn and the body count would be astronomical. It would take an entire army to bring John down if he ever went completely over the edge. Thankfully, this time Jack had managed to keep him relatively contained.

"Come on," Jack called to John. "Let's get you home and cleaned up." And John went with him, as mild as a lamb.


	7. Some Things Are Better Left Unsaid

**A/N: This takes place just after "Exit Wounds".**

**Some Things Are Better Left Unsaid**

After the loss of Tosh and Owen and the disaster caused by Gray, Jack asked John to stick around for a bit. Gwen just couldn't understand it. Even though John had tried to help them in the end, he had helped Gray in the beginning. If it weren't for him, Gray would never have gotten near Jack. If he cared as much for Jack as he claimed, then why did he bring Gray here when he knew what would happen? Yes, Gray had attached a bomb to him but if it had been Ianto, he would have died rather than help Gray with his plan. Overwrought and wanting to lash out at somebody, Gwen confronted John.

"What were you thinking when you found Gray? Shouldn't you have known there was something wrong with him? Are we supposed to believe that you, of all people, freed him out of the kindness of your heart and were too wrapped up in helping him that you didn't notice he was seriously disturbed?"

John was completely unimpressed with Gwen's outburst. However, since he had nothing better to do, he decided to answer her. "I did it for Jack. I knew how much his brother meant to him. As long as I've known Jack, he's been searching for Gray."

"You did this for Jack? The same man you pushed off a rooftop the day the rest of us first met you? You care so much about him you'll go out of your way to find his long lost brother, but you can kill him without a second thought?" Gwen was incredulous.

"That was a moment of passion, Jack had something I wanted and he wouldn't give it to me. It wasn't personal. If it doesn't bother him, why should it bother you? Jack and I have a long, complicated relationship, Sweet Cheeks, I don't expect you to understand it."

Gwen was furious. "What's to understand? You worked together. Then you got stuck in a time loop and you were stuck with each other. You got out of it and went your separate ways. What's so complicated about that?"

John was just amused. "You really have no idea. You know nothing about me, and you know even less about Jack. You think because I don't see things the way you do that I have no feelings. I care; I just learned over the years that my survival has to come first. Jack understands that. He wasn't all that different from me, once upon a time. He was just better at planning ahead and not jumping feet first into things. He was still with me, every step of the way."

"So, yes, I found and freed Gray for Jack, because it was important to him and I care about him. It's also generally a good idea to be in Jack's good graces. But I didn't do it just for Jack. I also did it for Gray. See, unlike you, I understood what he'd been through. I could relate, and he saw that. The mistake I made was thinking that he was strong, like Jack. He'd survived all that time, I just thought he'd be able to make it. Sure he'd be angry and want revenge; I just never thought he'd blame Jack for everything. But he was weak; he was too afraid to blame the ones that were really at fault. If he'd wanted to go after them, it wouldn't have been a problem."

"So now we have one psychopathic killer judging another one. Were you ever normal?" In her anger, Gwen failed to notice the danger signs in the narrowing of John's eyes and the tightening of his lips. "I bet you were deranged even as a child. How old were you when you first killed someone?" She really didn't expect John to answer, but he did.

"I was about 12 years old. At least that was the best estimate; I don't know when I was born." By this point, Jack had noticed what was going on and could see where this was headed. It wasn't going to be good.

"How could you not remember your own birthday?"

John's voice was getting low and dangerous. "I didn't say I couldn't remember it, I said I didn't know what it was. I didn't know what my name was either. I still don't. Apparently no one cared enough to ever find out or, if they did, they never bothered to tell me. The people I killed deserved to die. If I could have made them suffer more I would have. No one was going to help me, so I had to help myself. I thought I could help Gray, but he focused on the wrong person. It's people like you who always give up on people like us. Then you wonder what went wrong. You're just as much to blame as those who started it in the first place."

Jack knew the situation had gone critical, even if Gwen didn't. He threw himself between John and Gwen and shouted to both of them "That's enough!" Then he turned to John and stared him down. "Go take a walk, John." It might seem a strange thing to say, but it was their old code phrase for telling John to stand down when he had been pushed too far and was about to go over the edge. John wasn't ready to just give in though. He kept up the challenge for a few more minutes, until he finally was forced to look away from Jack. Without another word, John just picked up and left. That's when Jack turned on Gwen.

"You can't push him like that, not about this, not about his childhood. You have no idea what could have happened. He was this close to completely losing it. And if you think what Gray did was bad, you have no idea what John is capable of when he goes off the deep end. Gray made this city burn; John would make this city bleed, literally. There would be no stopping him. I don't think even I could get close enough to kill him if he's on a rampage."

Gwen opened her mouth to speak, but Jack stopped her. "Don't say a word. John was right, you don't know him and you don't know what was between us. What happened here wasn't his fault. I understand him, or at least I used to. I'd almost forgotten, and it could have cost us everything. John is what the Time Agency and everyone before them made him. Think of him as a grenade with the pin pulled out. You have to hold on in just the right way or he'll explode. Hopefully, I caught him in time and he'll calm down and forget all about this. You will never speak to him about this again. Is that understood?"

All Gwen could do is nod. It wasn't the tirade that told her how serious the situation was. It was the look on Jack's face. Gwen had seen Jack concerned, upset, angry, and many other things. One thing she had never seen on his face, until this moment, was a look of complete terror. Anything that could make Jack that afraid was something she never wanted to see.


	8. Cold Comfort

**Cold Comfort**

Jack and John were both lying on the bed fully clothed. Jack was leaning against John and had been for quite some time. John had an arm around Jack and was just holding him. Jack's entire world had been turned upside down with the deaths of Ianto and Stephen. After trying everything else, Jack finally turned to the one person who knew him best and wouldn't judge him.

"This isn't right. You shouldn't be trying to comfort me. Everyone around me, everyone I care about dies," Jack said to John without even looking at him.

"It's a good thing you hate me, then. I knew there was some reason I was so disagreeable. It's a survival trait. Besides only the good die young, Jack, and I'm definitely not good."

"You're also not young, John."

"Rub it in, why don't you? Don't you have some gray hairs to pull?"

"Very funny, besides, you have more gray hairs than I do."

Even this playful banter did little to disguise the depression that had taken over Jack. He had tried to dull the pain with alcohol and throwing himself into life-threatening activities, but there is only so long you can hide from yourself. Still, it seemed strange that it was John he wanted at a time like this. Or maybe not, after all, they had been through a lot together over the years. They had seen each other at their worst, and they both had survived to tell the tale.

"Why are you even here? I blew you off, changed my life, and then tried to run you out of town so I wouldn't have to admit the kind of person I used to be. I guess I haven't changed as much as I thought."

"You were never as bad as you thought you were. You just spent too much time with me. Besides, I threw you off a roof and buried you alive. That makes us even, so where else would I be? It's not like I have a lot of friends. You were basically it, and it was your _job_ to be my friend."

Jack turned to John with a questioning look. "What are you talking about? We were partners, but it was more than that. You know that."

John kept his face blank and his tone even, but Jack could tell that this was a painful topic for him. "You were my keeper, my leash. As far as the Agency was concerned, I was just a weapon that could think and talk. Your job was to aim me at the appropriate target and keep me from going off at the wrong time."

Jack gently took hold of John's face and looked in his eyes. "I never saw it that way. I never saw _you_ that way."

"Maybe, but that doesn't change reality. I know what I was. Did they really think I didn't? Did everyone think I was so stupid that I wouldn't see how that was the only thing they thought I was good for?"

"No one thought you were stupid, John. You're brilliant; that's part of what makes you so dangerous. The Agency knew how valuable you were."

"You're the one they thought was valuable. If they didn't, they would have just killed you when you started to question things they didn't want anyone knowing about. Instead, they just erased your memory and hoped you'd be a good little Time Agent and keep doing your job."

Jack was shocked and angry. "You knew what happened? You knew why they took my memory and you didn't tell me?"

"All I knew is what I told you. You had been piecing together some kind of information over a long time. I don't know how long, you never told me. Eventually, you made some sort of sense of it and you weren't happy with what you saw. The Agency found out before you could talk to anyone and erased two years of your memory just to be sure nothing could trigger a recall. If it hadn't worked, they would have killed you."

"Even before I was immortal, I was a hard man to kill, John."

"Yeah, I know, that's why they would have sent me. I wouldn't have been able to refuse, or it would have been me they put down. I love you Jack, but not enough to die for you."

"I never expected you to. Besides, dying for me is highly over-rated. I wish less people would do it."

"Eye-candy would have."

"And look where that got him."

"He got you. That's what he wanted."

"It's too bad he didn't know I wasn't worth it."

"Yeah you were, and you still are."

Both men were silent for a while. Then Jack asked John "What would you have done?"

"About what?"

"If you had to choose between Stephen and millions of other kids, what would you have done?"

"Truthfully? I could care less about those other kids and their families. I would never have tried to save them in the first place. The 456 could have taken every kid on Earth and I wouldn't have lost any sleep over it. Of course I'm a cold-hearted bastard, or so they tell me. You're not like that. You actually care about other people. You wouldn't have been able to live with yourself if you had a way to save them but refused to do it. And you have a long time ahead of you to live with yourself."

"Ianto's niece and nephew would have been taken."

"Then you really wouldn't have been able to live with yourself."

"I can't live with myself now."

"No, you just think it hurts too much. You'll get over it. Some other disaster will trigger your hero complex, and you'll be off and running."

"Alice will never forgive me."

"She will some day."

"No she won't."

"Fine, she won't." After a brief pause, John says to Jack "I forgive you."

With a short laugh and a brief smile, Jack turned to John. "But you're a cold-hearted bastard."

John smiled back. "See? You're feeling better already."

Jack settled back down with his head on John's shoulder, and John started to run his hand through Jack's hair. They stayed that way, without saying another word, for a long time.


	9. Directory

**Directory**

Since I've started adding new chapters out of sequence (to maintain the timeline of the story), I will use this space to let you know which chapter is actually the new chapter. Sorry for any confusion.

**Latest Chapter:** Chapter 3 – Survival of the Fittest, Chapter 4 - A New Partner

I hope this clears things up.


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